A Mountain Woman [43]
-- that's my opinion. There are some bad things we can't help havin' aroun'; but a bull-dog ain't one of 'em."
"I quite agree with you," Kate acqui- esced, as she drank the water. "But as this is the first unpleasant experience of any kind that I have had since I came here, I don't feel that I have any right to complain."
"You're here fur yur health?"
"Yes. And I am getting it. You're not an invalid, I imagine?"
"No -- no-op. I'm here be -- well, I've thought fur a long time I'd like t' stay at this here hotel."
"Indeed!"
"Yes. I've been up th' gulch these fif- teen years. Bin livin' on a shelf of black rock. Th' sun got 'round 'bout ten. Couldn't make a thing grow." The man was look- ing off toward the hills, with an expression of deep sadness in his eyes. "Didn't never live in a place where nothin' 'd grow, did you? I took geraniums up thar time an' time agin. Red ones. Made me think of mother; she's in Germany. Watered 'em mornin' an' night. Th' damned things died."
The oath slipped out with an artless un- consciousness, and there was a little moist- ure in his eyes. Kate felt she ought to bring the conversation to a close. She wondered what Jack would say if he saw her talking with a perfect stranger who used oaths! She would have gone into the house but for something that caught her eye. It was the hand of the man; that hand was a bludgeon. All grace and flexibility had gone out of it, and it had become a mere instrument of toil. It was seamed and misshapen; yet it had been carefully mani- cured, and the pointed nails looked fantastic and animal-like. A great seal-ring bore an elaborate monogram, while the little finger displayed a collection of diamonds and emeralds truly dazzling to behold. An impulse of humanity and a sort of artistic curiosity, much stronger than her discretion, urged Kate to continue her conversation.
"What were you doing up the gulch?" she said.
The man leaned back in his chair and regarded her a moment before answering. He realized the significance of her question. He took it as a sign that she was willing to be friendly. A look of gratitude, almost tender, sprang into his eyes, -- dull gray eyes, they were, with a kindliness for their only recommendation.
"Makin' my pile," he replied. "I've been in these parts twenty years. When I come here, I thought I was goin' to make a fortune right off. I had all th' money that mother could give me, and I lost everything I had in three months. I went up th' gulch." He paused, and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
There was something in his remark and the intonation which made Kate say softly:
"I suppose you've had a hard time of it."
"Thar you were!" he cried. "Thar was th' rock -- risin', risin', black! At th' bottom wus th' creek, howlin' day an' night! Lonesome! Gee! No one t' talk to. Of course, th' men. Had some with me always. They didn't talk. It's too -- too quiet t' talk much. They played cards. Curious, but I never played cards. Don't think I'd find it amusin'. No, I worked. Came down here once in six months or three months. Had t' come -- grub-staked th' men, you know. Did you ever eat salt pork?" He turned to Kate suddenly with this question.
"Why, yes; a few times. Did you have it?"
"Nothin' else, much. I used t' think of th' things mother cooked. Mother under- stood cookin', if ever a woman did. I'll never forget th' dinner she gave me th' day I came away. A woman ought t' cook. I hear American women don't go in much for cookin'."
"Oh, I think that's a mistake," Kate hastened to interrupt. "All that I know un- derstand how to serve excellent dinners. Of course, they may not cook them themselves, but I think they could if it were necessary."
"Hum!" He picked up a long glove that had fallen from Kate's lap and fingered it before returning it.
"I s'pose you cook?"
"I make a specialty of salads and sor- bets," smiled Kate. "I guess I could roast meat and make bread; but circumstances have not yet compelled me to do it. But I've a theory that an American woman can do anything
"I quite agree with you," Kate acqui- esced, as she drank the water. "But as this is the first unpleasant experience of any kind that I have had since I came here, I don't feel that I have any right to complain."
"You're here fur yur health?"
"Yes. And I am getting it. You're not an invalid, I imagine?"
"No -- no-op. I'm here be -- well, I've thought fur a long time I'd like t' stay at this here hotel."
"Indeed!"
"Yes. I've been up th' gulch these fif- teen years. Bin livin' on a shelf of black rock. Th' sun got 'round 'bout ten. Couldn't make a thing grow." The man was look- ing off toward the hills, with an expression of deep sadness in his eyes. "Didn't never live in a place where nothin' 'd grow, did you? I took geraniums up thar time an' time agin. Red ones. Made me think of mother; she's in Germany. Watered 'em mornin' an' night. Th' damned things died."
The oath slipped out with an artless un- consciousness, and there was a little moist- ure in his eyes. Kate felt she ought to bring the conversation to a close. She wondered what Jack would say if he saw her talking with a perfect stranger who used oaths! She would have gone into the house but for something that caught her eye. It was the hand of the man; that hand was a bludgeon. All grace and flexibility had gone out of it, and it had become a mere instrument of toil. It was seamed and misshapen; yet it had been carefully mani- cured, and the pointed nails looked fantastic and animal-like. A great seal-ring bore an elaborate monogram, while the little finger displayed a collection of diamonds and emeralds truly dazzling to behold. An impulse of humanity and a sort of artistic curiosity, much stronger than her discretion, urged Kate to continue her conversation.
"What were you doing up the gulch?" she said.
The man leaned back in his chair and regarded her a moment before answering. He realized the significance of her question. He took it as a sign that she was willing to be friendly. A look of gratitude, almost tender, sprang into his eyes, -- dull gray eyes, they were, with a kindliness for their only recommendation.
"Makin' my pile," he replied. "I've been in these parts twenty years. When I come here, I thought I was goin' to make a fortune right off. I had all th' money that mother could give me, and I lost everything I had in three months. I went up th' gulch." He paused, and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
There was something in his remark and the intonation which made Kate say softly:
"I suppose you've had a hard time of it."
"Thar you were!" he cried. "Thar was th' rock -- risin', risin', black! At th' bottom wus th' creek, howlin' day an' night! Lonesome! Gee! No one t' talk to. Of course, th' men. Had some with me always. They didn't talk. It's too -- too quiet t' talk much. They played cards. Curious, but I never played cards. Don't think I'd find it amusin'. No, I worked. Came down here once in six months or three months. Had t' come -- grub-staked th' men, you know. Did you ever eat salt pork?" He turned to Kate suddenly with this question.
"Why, yes; a few times. Did you have it?"
"Nothin' else, much. I used t' think of th' things mother cooked. Mother under- stood cookin', if ever a woman did. I'll never forget th' dinner she gave me th' day I came away. A woman ought t' cook. I hear American women don't go in much for cookin'."
"Oh, I think that's a mistake," Kate hastened to interrupt. "All that I know un- derstand how to serve excellent dinners. Of course, they may not cook them themselves, but I think they could if it were necessary."
"Hum!" He picked up a long glove that had fallen from Kate's lap and fingered it before returning it.
"I s'pose you cook?"
"I make a specialty of salads and sor- bets," smiled Kate. "I guess I could roast meat and make bread; but circumstances have not yet compelled me to do it. But I've a theory that an American woman can do anything